John Lescroart - Nothing But The Truth

Glitsky himself tried to limit his profanity to a word or two a year, but he appreciated a well-turned phrase. The scar between his lips tightened in amusement. But Coleman was still seething – implicit in everything that had just transpired in Pratt’s office was the accusation that he and his partner had booted one. ‘If there’s such a fire under this one, Abe, why didn’t we hear about it?’

The elevator door opened and they squeezed in amid the rest of the clerks, cops, lawyers, and citizens. Glitsky had at one time decided that it could be an instructive display of authority to talk in a crowded elevator, and he answered Coleman as if they were alone in his office. He also thought it wouldn’t be all bad if some spy from the airport – he hoped that Batavia’s new nickname for the DA’s office would have a long life – heard him taking Mr Scott Randall to task for his misguided enthusiasm. Maybe he’d also drop a little rumor about Scott’s ambitions that his boss wouldn’t appreciate all that much.

‘Randall wants a high-profile case, that’s all, Vince. He wants out of this low-rent office, into the big private money. This building’s not big enough for him, so due process takes a powder.’

Batavia was also immune to elevator squelch. His voice boomed in the enclosed space. ‘But he doesn’t have a goddam thing, Abe. Like I said in there.’ The doors opened and they stepped out. ‘What’s this window of time shit, anyway? Everything we’ve read or heard, the guy was dropping the kids at school, going for coffee.’

But here, though he hated it, Glitsky had to admit that technically, Randall wasn’t all wrong. He had to give Coleman and Batavia his reading that even if Frannie’s alibi was righteous, Ron Beaumont still could have killed his wife. Bree’s body hadn’t been discovered in the patio for several hours, and the coroner hadn’t been able to fix a precise time of death. ‘It could have been three hours plus or minus,’ he concluded. ‘We’re going on around eight thirty on the theory that Ron left the house a little before that and says she was still alive.’

‘The kids say it, too. How about that?’ Batavia wasn’t ready to give anything to Scott Randall.

But Glitsky knew that the homicide cop’s worst enemy was imprecision. Well, maybe second worst after jumping to conclusions, but certainly way up there. He corrected Batavia. ‘I hate to say it, Jorge, but the kids were a little vague.’

Coleman popped in. ‘Hey, it’s two days after their mom died , for Christ’s sake, and they didn’t remember what she had for breakfast. I don’t blame ’em. Hell, I don’t remember what I had for breakfast today. I don’t even know if I ate breakfast.‘

‘Donuts,’ Batavia said. ‘Remember, Lanier brought up-’

‘Guys!’ Glitsky stopped at the door to the homicide detail. ‘The point is, Ron’s not eliminated, OK?’

Batavia wasn’t letting it go. ‘The kids said the mom was there, Abe.’

Glitsky shook his head. ‘Ron prompted them. Read the one transcript Griffin got around to getting typed. Carl didn’t get the kids to talk to him with their father out of the room, and not to speak ill of the dead, but I do so wish he had. And let’s not forget that Ron has left his home and gone to parts unknown.’

‘All right. Shit.’ Batavia had a habit of dismissing himself. He was turning now on his heel, on his way to his desk.

‘Jorge!’

It was his lieutenant. He had to stop.

‘We’re not done here. This is still our case. Randall hasn’t charged anybody.’

He took a step back. ‘I thought you just said-’

Glitsky cut him off. ‘I didn’t say it was Ron. I said he wasn’t impossible. But one thing’s for sure – he’s Randall’s guy, isn’t he? I mean, the DA’s committed to Ron Beaumont now. Nobody else. You hear what I’m saying?’

Coleman did. He looked at his partner. ‘Anybody else would be, like, a teeny tiny embarrassment, don’t you think?’

Glitsky watched his inspectors, making sure they both got it. As Batavia’s face broke into a smile of comprehension, he pointed a finger. ‘Go,’ he said.

‘But I’ve got to find Ron,’ Hardy said. ‘How about your guys find Ron first, then they start on everybody else?’

It was a long-standing tradition in homicide that the lieutenant’s desk held a stash of peanuts. Glitsky was taking advantage of this naturally occurring phenomenon, eating a hearty breakfast of donuts, peanuts, and tea. He broke a shell thoughtfully. ‘You got any ideas where we look to find Ron?’

‘No. But he’s got to have some family. Maybe somebody at the school, who he’d want them to notify in case of emergency…’

A reluctant sigh. ‘OK, that’s not bad. We can try that. I’ll send a squad car back to his place, too. Couldn’t hurt. But I wouldn’t hold my breath, Diz. If he took his car and he’s gone - what did you say, three days already? – then he could be in Chicago by now. If he flew, it could be anywhere.’

‘OK, but if he flew, especially with the two kids, there’s a record of it.’

Glitsky was shaking his head slowly, sadly. His friend hadn’t gotten much sleep and it was showing. ‘Diz, you know I’m feeling for Frannie. I just went a few rounds with Pratt over it. But we can’t go large on Ron. We don’t have the personnel and if we did they’d have better things to do.’

‘Abe, the guy’s a murder suspect-’

‘Maybe, maybe. But he came in and talked to the grand jury when they asked him, and answered all their questions. They were done with him. Nobody gave him a thought as a suspect until Frannie mentioned their little secret.’ He threw a peanut into his mouth and grabbed for his tea. ‘Randall didn’t even tell him not to leave town. Maybe they went camping, or to Disneyland. Who knows? The mom just died, Diz. They feel squirrely where she lived. It’s weird there. This stuff happens. What’s up with Frannie?’

Hardy shook his head. ‘She’s not talking.’

Glitsky did his still-life imitation. After a few seconds, he cracked another peanut. ‘Braun cut her any slack?’

‘Nope.’

Another long moment of nothing. Finally Glitsky spread his hands. ‘Well…’

Hardy stood up. ‘This can’t be happening,’ he said.

Glitsky had lost his own wife to cancer a few years before. That couldn’t be happening either. He nodded. There wasn’t anything left to say.

Hardy finally got finished at the Hall and the jail – his latest frustrating and unproductive visit with Frannie. After that, he had stopped by his office to check on Freeman’s progress, if any, and then, waiting for Freeman to return from court, had nodded off. When he awoke from the two-hour nap on the couch in his office, nothing had changed.

He couldn’t sit still any longer. He had to make something happen.

Glitsky had promised him that he’d send a squad car over to Merryvale to try to get an indication of Ron Beaumont’s whereabouts, but that wasn’t going to be good enough. It would fall under the category of ordinary business – Hardy doubted whether Glitsky would even send homicide inspectors. Some uniforms could take the information and pass it along upstairs. Well, Hardy decided, why should he wait when he could do the same thing himself?

Merryvale’s principal, Theresa Wilson, was a no-nonsense, handsome woman in her mid-forties. She was standing as Hardy was shown into her office. Her handshake would have been impressive in a linebacker and her smile under a close-cropped henna mop appeared at the same time to be both genuine and professional, also impressive. She didn’t hide behind her desk, either, but met him by the door, leading him to a small corner grouping of upholstered chairs. ‘Mr Hardy. I hope your being here doesn’t mean bad news for your wife? Please, sit down.’